The Isle's Flag is White
by The7thCatWasAGhost
Summary: AU. Since the start of the war, woman and children have been escorted to safe-islands all-around the world. Like the other inhabitants, Gilbert lives in peace. But when a strange man washes up on their shores, their peaceful life is shattered as they race to save the stranger's brother and keep the Resistance and Army from attacking their home and destroying everything.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** **Hello there! Thanks for giving this fanfic a chance! This is currently my first fanfic that I'm publishing on this sight, so I'd be interested to hear what you think and what I could improve. Also, I've rated this fic T, because I don't think it's graphic enough for M. This might change in future, however, or if you guys think it should be higher rated.**

 **I'm using human names for the characters, since they're human in this, so I'll put their names up at the start of each chapter!**

 **Louise Beilschmidt: Nyo!Germany**

 **Julchen Beilschmidt: Nyo!Prussia**

 **Gilbert Beilschmidt: Prussia**

 **Sophia Edelstein: Nyo!Austria**

 **Roderich Edelstein: Austria**

 **Elizaveta Hédérvàry: Hungary**

 **Warnings: Mentions of war, bombings, death**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, it belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

 **Please enjoy!**

* * *

A sea breeze blew across the port, ruffling passers-by's hair and sending litter flying off into the distance. The tarmac was cracked, vines growing wild across old holiday villas. Bobbing in the water, boats waited for people to board them, the rich getting aboard safer and cleaner ones whereas the poor were forced to climb onto smaller ones with leaks and tape around them. Long lines of people were waiting to board them, the only men present being those under eighteen years of age.

In one of the longer lines, a young woman stood in line, holding a baby in her arms and a small boy's hand in her own free one. On her other side, a young girl gripped her shirt nervously. The lady's blond hair was cut short, barely reaching her shoulders, and her blue eyes were cold and weary. Her clothes were torn, a loosely fitted white shirt and green shorts ripped and dirty, and many visible areas of her body were covered in cuts and bruises.

The little ones by her side weren't faring any better. The little girl's long white hair was matted and her blue dress was ripped. Despite this, however, her eyes sparkled with energy.

The small boy was clinging onto the woman, his white hair dull and turning darker because of the dirt and mud clinging to it and his red eyes tired and exhausted. He was wearing a white shirt and black shorts that must, once upon a time, have been trousers.

The baby was wrapped in a blanket, eyes closed since he was sleeping.

"Mama, I'm tired. Can't you carry me?" the white haired boy whined in German.

"No, Gilbert, I can't. Just stay standing for a little longer, okay? Then you can sit down," his mother explained patiently with a small sigh.

"We've been walking for ages though!"

"I know. And you're a brave boy, aren't you?"

They moved forward, nearing the barge. A young woman called out to them.

"Louise! There you are! I've been looking for you!"

She had long dark brown hair and violet eyes and was wearing a white gown. Unlike the others in line, her clothes held very little rips or tears, suggesting her rich background. Two children stumbled after her: a boy with short black hair and violet eyes with large black glasses upon his nose and a girl with medium-long brown hair and bright green eyes.

"Sophia, what are you doing here? I thought you had reserved a ferry for you and Roderich," Louise frowned, confusion written on her face.

"I couldn't leave you and your little ones behind now, could I? Come on, there's room for everyone," without waiting for a response, the smaller lady dragged the older one with her.

Ignoring the glares and hostile mutters around them, they changed direction, heading for a large ship where a variety of people were waiting to board. They joined the queue, standing behind better off ladies and children.

"Thank you, Sophia," Louise turned to look at her friend, lifting her hand to wipe a few stray tears from the corners of her eyes.

"No problem. Anyway, Liz wouldn't stop crying at the idea that Gilbert wouldn't be with her."

"Was not!" the brown-haired girl protested.

"I bet you were! You couldn't live without the awesome me!" the white-haired toddler stuck his tongue out at her.

"Enough, children," the latter's mother scolded them before turning back to her friend, "Where's Erzsebet?"

Sophia's face grew grim and she shook her head.

"We lost her at the border. She asked me to take care of Liz."

"I see…" the blond gazed up at the sky, face contorted with grief.

"Next!" an officer called from the stairs.

"Sophie Edelstein. Accompanied by my son, Roderich Edelstein and some friends: Elizaveta Hédérváry, Louise Beilschmidt, her sons Gilbert Beilschmidt and Ludwig Beilschmidt and daughter Julchen Beilschmidt," the young woman announced.

"Papers?"

"Here," she passed him a folder, "Louise, do you have yours?"

"Here."

The officer studied them for a moment before nodding and stepping to the side.

"You may climb aboard. Remember to keep the baby quiet."

They quickly thanked him before walking up the staircase onto the boat. Inside, it was just as cold as outside, but at least there were plenty of seats. The small family chose an area next to the window, so that the children could look out.

"Where are we going?" Julchen, the oldest, asked.

"Somewhere safe."

"But where?"

"I don't know."

The six year old pouted, unhappy with the answer, and sat down, folding her arms against her chest.

"Stop sulking, dear."

"I'm not sulking," she huffed.

"Why do we have to leave? And will **mother** join us?" Elizaveta looked up at the two adults, allowing a slither of her native tongue, Hungarian, to blend into her words.

"Because it isn't safe here."

"What about **mother**?"

"Maybe…" the brown-haired person didn't meet her eyes.

* * *

A loud announcement blasted through the speakers, declaring that they were now leaving and for everyone to stay calm during the trip.

All around the room, families were gathered in little groups, some without children, and others without their wives or husbands. A small group of Asian looking children were walking around with no adult to guide them, appearing to be scared. Noticing this, Sophie called them over.

"Come here, little ones! Come and join us!"

They hesitated before the oldest, a little boy of about eight years old dragged her brothers and sister towards them.

"Hello there, where are your parents?" the Austrian woman smiled warmly at them.

The children looked around at each other blankly. Finally, the tallest of the lot turned to the adults in front of him. He shook his head and muttered something in a different language.

"Do you understand us?"

Again, a blank look. They had obviously lost their parents after getting on board, otherwise there was no way they would have been allowed on the ship. However, any further questioning was taken to a halt as the ferry started to move.

Families hugged each other tightly, small glimmers of hope in their eyes. They were being led to safety! Finally the nightmare would be over!

The foreign stowaways had also used this moment of distraction to disappear from sight.

The journey passed in silence. Despite how much the German and Hungarian little ones wanted to talk, they were silenced by the adults. Every now and then, the loud engines of planes could be heard, causing everyone to clutch each other tighter, fear slowly taking hold of them. Some travellers were knelt on the ground, praying some invisible god to come and save them, to let them reach their destination safely, others were crying softly, begging their deaf enemies to let them live.

Suddenly, an extremely loud airplane flew over them. They all tensed. Then, without warning, an explosion sounded from the boiler room. The smell of smoke and the warmth of flames enveloped the passengers, as did panic.

Some people collapsed to the floor, taking over by despair, others tried to escape.

"Julchen, take your brothers, Roderich and Elizaveta to the escape boats! Hurry now!" Louise ordered her oldest daughter.

"But what about you?" the albino turned to her mother in horror.

"Don't worry about me! Just go! Now! I love you!" the blond-haired woman was now crying.

Julchen nodded solemnly before taking her baby brother in her arms and dragging the two boys with her, hoping the girl would follow them. She then ran, ran like she had never run before. She had a mission. She had to get her brothers to safety. She had to save her family. Then she could go back and help her mother. Not before.

"Come on, everyone! Run faster!" she screamed as another explosion rocked the boat.

The Asian children they had met earlier caught up with them. The two eldest exchanged a glance, and although they didn't speak the same language, they understood exactly what the other wanted.

"This way! Follow me!" the girl called, turning into a narrow corridor.

She had no idea where she was going, but this seemed better than the ongoing violence ahead. They kept on running, charging down corridors, abruptly changing routes. Finally, the twelve-year-old caught a glimpse of something bright and red. A boat!

"This way! There's a boat over here!" she pointed towards the thing.

However, before they could reach it, the youngest girl fell to the floor.

"Mei!" the Chinese boy yelled, panic in his voice.

In a split second, the baby had been placed in Gilbert's arms and Julchen had turned around and grabbed the black-haired girl's hand.

"Get up!" she shouted, pulling her with her.

All of a sudden, a shaking above them caused cracks to appear in the ceiling. It was then that the twelve year old realised the truth. Her fearful red eyes met the long-haired child's scared amber ones.

 _Please take care of my brothers for me._

And then she pushed Mei into the boat, losing her balance just as the ceiling came falling down on her.

"Julchen!" Gilbert screamed in terror as his sister was crushed by the weight upon her.

"C-o-m-e," the eldest boy pulled him into the boat.

It fell into the water with a splash, leaving nine solitary children all alone in the middle of the ocean. Above them, more planes joined the scene, shooting each other and causing the ship, burning and choking whoever was still inside, to sink into the depths of the sea, never to be found again.

And amongst the wreckage, a strand of white hair stuck out from the debris. The body it belonged to was beyond recognition.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** **Hello everyone! First of all, thank you for those of you who decided to give the first chapter a go! Here is the official first chapter of The Isle's Flag is White!**

 **So, it's still more of an introductory chapter, the actual plot will start next chapter.**

 **Any constructive criticism is appreciated, since I've got still got a lot to learn!**

 **Names this chapter:**

 **Francis Bonnefoy: France**

 **Eduard: Estonia**

 **Berwald Oxenstierna:** **Sweden**

 **Tino Väinämöinen: Finland**

 **Antonio Fernandez Carriedo: Spain**

 **Lovino Vargas: South Italy**

 **Feliciano Vargas: North Italy**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia still belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz, not to me.**

 **Warnings: swearing, mentions of death**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

Gilbert loved patrolling. The feel of his horse, Arger, beneath him, the wind in his face as he rode faster, the birds tweeting in the trees, seeing the passing scenery, there couldn't be anything better. And when his childhood friend and rival Elizaveta was with him, it was even more fun. The two would race each other, challenge each other, insult each other. Those were fun and peaceful days that made getting up at five in the morning worth it.

However, he hated patrolling with Roderich. The Austrian aristocrat would ride slowly, try to get everyone lost and ignore any advice given to him, and, worst of all, he would stay right next to Elizaveta. He was absolutely hopeless. And it wasn't as if she was interested in him! Nope, Liz fancied the awesome him, he was sure of it! All her vicious insults, blows and glares were just her way of trying to get his attention. But Roderich just didn't seem to understand that!

"Gilbert, hurry up. You're lagging," said aristocrat reprimanded the daydreaming self-proclaimed Prussian.

The red-eyed man shook his head as he was brought back to reality. Today was one of those days when he hated patrolling. Both Roderich and Elizaveta were there, and they were so close. So damn close to each other!

However, the albino simply urged his horse on and shot a dark glare at his arch-enemy's back.

"What were you day-dreaming about, mon ami? It's not like you to be so distracted," one of his best friends, Francis, frowned in concern.

Francis Bonnefoy was French, a pervert and a really good friend. Whilst he enjoyed flirting with anything that could speak and constantly fought with the Isle's local crazy person, he was loyal and surprisingly smart and had earned the right to be almost as awesome as Gilbert.

"Nothing in particular," the shorter male shrugged, "wish Toni was with us instead of the Priss."

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was the other member of the group commonly known as the Bad Touch Trio, due to their pranks and slightly perverted ideas. He unfortunately hadn't come that morning, since he was busy helping out with the harvest.

"Ah, wouldn't that be nice? Although, you have to admit, he is quite the looker," the Frenchman stroke his stubbly chin thoughtfully, smiling slyly as he eyed the dark-haired man up.

Gilbert punched him playfully, grimacing in disgust.

"He's ugly and he's got a shit personality. Plus, he's always flirting with Liz. Do it with him and we're no longer friends."

His friend laughed as they followed the two in front of them. Patrols generally lasted about an hour, the time they walked the borders of the Island. There usually wasn't anything to report, except maybe a complaining farmer or a boat sailing too close.

The Isle was fairly small, but was composed of seven main areas: the east mainly contained beaches and cliffs. People rarely went there, mainly because it had full view of land, therefore was considered dangerous. To the south were fields of corn, wheat, barley, hay, straw and many other agricultural products. It was one of the busiest areas, and people constantly complained about everything over there. It was too hot, they'd been ignored by the Patrollers, the list went on and on. It was also home to fruit trees, which meant the Patrollers had to double-check that nobody was stealing all the apples. The west was a lot more industrial. There were tall buildings, polluting factories and lots and lots of people. It was also where all their meat came from. Finally, in the centre, there was a lot of forest and Gilbert's home, the Palace. Despite its grand name, it was simply an extremely long house home to the Patrollers of the Isle.

As the small group joined the long sandy trail by the beach towards home, Elizaveta turned towards the albino.

"Oi, Gil, fancy a race? However gets home first wins," her green eyes gleamed in the sunlight.

"You're on! But don't cry too much when the awesome me beats you!"

Without waiting for an answer, he urged his black mare into a canter and sped off in front of her. Trees past by him in a blur and he let out a whoop of excitement as the Hungarian caught up to him. They both chased each other along the path, one moment had him in the lead, the other she'd overtake him. This was what he loved. Racing with his rival. There was nothing better in the world.

But it was over too soon. They slowed down as they reached the grand gates that opened up to the Palace. They were quite grand, framed by a stone wall. From the top of it, where a walkway had been installed for the look-outs, a blond-haired man wearing glasses poked his head over the wall to look down at them.

"You both know you're not supposed to abandon the others members of your Patrol unless we're under attack," he sighed exasperatedly, pinching his nose between his fingers.

"We were just racing, Eduard. Anyway, they'll be here soon," the Hungarian shrugged.

And sure enough, barely five minutes later, Roderich and Francis appeared, one appearing annoyed, the other amused. However, the leader didn't mention anything, simply shaking his head before turning the look-out.

"Can you open the gates for us, please? Roderich Edelstein, Elizaveta Hédérvàry, Francis Bonnefoy and Gilbert Beilschmidt are back from their patrol," he informed in that haughty voice of his.

"Anything to report?"

The gates opened slowly and groaned loudly, causing everyone to wince.

"Haven't you oiled them yet?" Gilbert grimaced.

"Berwald was busy with Tino this morning. Something about a leak in the infirmary."

"Are you sure it wasn't anything else? They have been eyeing each other up for the last few weeks," the Frenchman winked suggestively.

This earned him a smack from the brown-haired woman, although her eyes were shining with excitement, which was never a good thing. She then went bouncing off towards the Palace, quickly thanking the Estonian as she passed through.

"You know, sometimes I really think Liz is crazy," the Prussian stared after her.

"It's called being female, Gil. It's something us males will never understand," Francis yawned, rubbing his head where he'd been hit.

Roderich quickly dismounted and followed after her, passing his own horse to a stable-hand. Francis did the same, but Gil glared at the poor servant, bringing Arger back to the stables by himself. After a second of hesitation, he grabbed Elizaveta's stallion's reins as well and started to lead both animals towards their home.

Taking care of the horses was another one of his favourite pastimes. It seemed to run in the family, as his little brother Ludwig was the same. It was relaxing and rewarding to groom them down, rinse them off if it was hot outside, then to leave them in their field or stall.

By the time he'd finished, it was midday. His tummy rumbled, causing him to stretch and head back to the Palace. He headed straight to the dining hall, a large room with lots of benches and tables where many patrollers sat eating and chatting.

The Prussian spotted Antonio at one of the large tables, alongside Francis and a grumpy-looking guy called Lovino. The Italian's glare was just as dark as the Spaniard's smile was bright as they greeted him.

"What do you want, potato-eating bastard number two?" he wasn't exactly the friendliest of people.

"Hey, Gil! How are you today?" on the contrary, Antonio was probably one of nicest people on the planet.

"Starving! What's there to eat?" he seated himself down next to the Frenchman.

Whereas breakfast was simply a buffet laid out on the many tables, lunch and dinner were served by the servants. Of course, they weren't generally punished patrollers, but they did their job well, and the food the chefs prepared was delicious.

"Aren't you cooking today, Francis?" the tanned male frowned.

"No, our little Feli wanted to prepare something today. I'm quite excited to see what it is, actually."

Feliciano Vargas was Lovino's younger brother and the happiest person on earth. Constantly smiling and joyful, he loved to help out, and was probably the best chef on the Isle. He was also Ludwig's best friend, so Gilbert knew him quite well, even though he still failed to understand how the two got along.

Talking about his brother, he spotted the sturdy blond man discussing something a bit further away with a small black-haired man. Both were frowning about something. Whatever they were talking about seemed serious. The nosy man was tempted to go over there, but it was at that moment when the food was brought in and the talk was the last thing on his mind.

* * *

In the darkness of a room, multiple electronical equipment and computers lit up all of a sudden. A voice sounded in the now-blue office.

"Wy?"

"Here. What is your situation?" a small girl seated herself in front of a computer, typing furiously.

"We're completely surrounded. Is there any way you can help us?"

The young woman frowned and bit her lip nervously, eyes watering. She composed herself enough to reply.

"Negative. You're on your own."

There was a quiet "shit" on the other side of the speaker. The girl swallowed as tears started to fall from her eyes.

"Please tell me you'll be okay," she whispered.

There was silence. Screams could be heard from the distance as explosions shook the buildings and people in them. Finally, the man replied, but it was just as quiet as hers.

"Maybe. Goodbye, Wy."

And the line cut off. Now, with nothing to hold her back, the child burst into tears. Another three gone. As if life could get any worse.

* * *

"Lukas, we-"

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

"We're going to die, aren't we?"

"I'll figure it out."

"But-"

"Shut up."

A shot resounded into the darkness, followed by a scream.

 _Shit._


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry for the late update, I was busy this weekend!**

 **First of all, thank you to the people who have decided to follow this story and for that one reviewer that won't let me reply to! It really made me feel happy!**

 **Anyway, this chapter's slightly shorter (I think), but the story is finally starting!**

 **Just a quick name chart:**

 **Feliciano Vargas: North Italy**

 **Wendy: Wy**

 **Natalya Arlovskaya: Belarus**

 **Ivan Braginsky: Russia**

 **Toris Laurinaitis: Lithuania**

 **Marco: Kugelmugel**

 **Please enjoy and inform me of any grammar/spelling errors I might make!**

* * *

The rest of the day saw no sudden change for Gilbert. He helped the stable-hands groom the horses, joked around with his friends and teased Feliciano. There was nothing to break the routine. It was only when evening fell that change found its way to the Isle.

The sky had turned a dark shade of grey, almost black, as storm clouds arrived without warning. The wind started to blow harder, large droplets of rain started to fall against the ground and the sound of thunder could be heard in the distance.

All over the Palace, people scurried around, securing loose tents, bringing the laundry in, getting wetter and wetter as time went by. By ten o'clock, the storm was in full swing, lighting illuminating the dark corridors, thunder rumbling against the thick walls.

Gilbert sat by the window, looking out at the courtyard. He wanted to be out there. It might seem strange, but he loved being out in dark weather. Who cared if he was in danger? It was the thrill of adrenaline coursing through his system that made him crave for it so much.

Unfortunately, Romulus Vargas had declared that nobody should go outside, so he had to remain in.

"Hey, Gil!" a younger and brighter voice chirped from behind him.

It belonged to Feliciano Vargas, cook extraordinaire and happiest person on the planet. The Italian was smaller than the German, with short wavy auburn hair and constantly closed eyes. A stray curl leapt out from the side of his head, bobbing alongside the rest of him.

"Hey, Feli. Are you going to be able to cook dinner tonight?"

"Probably. The electricity might have gone off, but there are other ways to see what we're doing," he smiled.

The albino sighed in relief. He desperately wanted to be out there and food was the only thing that could distract him. Well, that and music. To his dismay, though, electric guitars didn't work during a blackout.

Suddenly, Feliciano sighed, his eyes widening slightly to survey the area.

"What is it?"

"I've got a bad feeling all of a sudden."

Gilbert would have burst out laughing if the Italian hadn't frowned. You see, Feliciano never frowned. He was constantly smiling or pouting, but he never frowned, he never really cried. Therefore, witnessing the boy so serious all of a sudden, the older man couldn't help but worry.

"Where from?"

"The beach," he replied without hesitation.

Gilbert stood up abruptly.

"Cover for me. I'll go and check it out."

Then, without waiting for an answer, he sneaked out. The rain made it impossible to see, and he was drenched the moment he set foot outside, yet that didn't deter him from continuing. He decided against riding, mainly since he didn't want to risk being seen or harming Arger. Instead, he proceeded by foot, climbing over the wall and running into the forest.

It was dryer under the shelter of the trees, but the giants swayed dangerously, making Gilbert dread them. It took him longer than he should have done for him to reach beach, but he finally made it.

At first glance, nothing seemed to be off, not that he could see much. However, when another flash of lightning lit up the area, he noticed something: a dark shape on the sand.

He approached it cautiously, all the while wondering whether Feliciano had psychic powers, red eyes widening as he realised what it was. There, passed out on the sand, was a person. He rushed over and bent his head to the man's chest to check for a heartbeat. By some miracle, he was alive.

Gilbert wasted no time in heaving the smaller man up onto his back and hurried off back to the Palace as fast as he could.

"Oi! Let me in!" he yelled at the gates.

He thought nobody would answer until a worried face glanced down at him. Toris Laurinaitis took one look at the bundle on his back and opened the gates, scurrying down to join them.

"Where did you find him?" he asked, not caring that his medium-long hair was getting soaked.

"On the beach. He's alive."

Toris didn't ask why the patroller had been on the beach when their commander had ordered them to stay inside, opting instead to help him bring the man inside. They took him up to the infirmary, a bright and colourful room where Feli and a shorter blond man were waiting.

The shorter man seemed absolutely mystified by their appearance, whereas the Italian simply gestured to lay him down on a bed. Now that he was out the rain, the German could finally take a good look at the person he'd just rescued.

He looked younger than Gilbert, his features sharp and petite. His hair was spread all over his face, short and messy. His clothes were torn and there were many open wounds all over his skin. What intrigued the albino the most, though, was a cross-shaped hairpin hanging from a stand of hair.

What interested him wasn't the shape, of course. The guy must be a strong believer, that was all there was to it. No, what intrigued him were the wires sticking out from all ends. It almost seemed like a communication device.

"Will he be okay?" Gil asked the two nurses.

"Somehow. You brought him here just in time. Although, you'll have to report this to Commander Vargas. He'll probably want to know what you were doing out," the shorter one, Tino, glared at the taller male.

"I'll tell him," Feliciano piped up, "after all, I was the one to send him out there."

Tino stared at the two of them for a few seconds, violet eyes burning with worry, anger and confusion. Finally, he sighed and turned away.

"Fine. Gilbert, get changed first and come back here. I'm still making sure you haven't caught a chill or anything."

Little did they know just how much things were about to change.

* * *

"Well?"

"Nothing."

Wendy frowned as she took another sip of her coffee. The black liquid seemed to mock her, and she wasted no time in tipping it down the drain. Next to her, her colleague, Marco, watched her in silence. The Australian took a deep breath before typing back into her computer.

"Come on, come on."

Communication signal: interrupted. Coordinates: unknown.

"Shit!" she swore angrily, slamming his fists against the desk.

"Still nothing?" Marco cocked his head to one side.

"Nothing, nothing at all. I can't find Norway's coordinates. He must have broken his communication device, that sod," she grumbled.

"What about the Lady and Iceland?"

"The Lady doesn't have a device, and Iceland's with the government. Which means that-"

"She's either six feet underground with Norway or being tortured by the government. I don't know which sounds worst," a cold female voice interrupted.

Wendy jumped in her seat at the voice and turned to face the woman angrily.

"Norway isn't dead. He's not that stupid."

"He isn't here, though. He can't help us. We should be worrying about bigger problems such as the fact they were ambushed. We have a mole amongst our ranks," the taller lady flicked a strand of long blond hair behind her ear.

At her words, Wendy froze. A mole? A traitor? But who? Who would betray them like that?

"You can't be serious," her voice trembled as she spoke.

"How else would they ambush Lukas and the Lady?" Natalya pointed out, ice-blue eyes gleaming in the darkness.

Wendy banged her head against the table in frustration. Why couldn't things be simple? Why was everything going wrong?

"Have you mentioned this to anyone else?" the shorter girl gritted her teeth.

"Just to Ivan."

The Australian took a deep breath and pinched her nose in concentration.

"Don't tell anyone else. We'll figure this all out," she finally managed to say.

Natalya simply nodded and walked out, most likely to inform her brother of the news.

Marco turned to the older girl.

"Good luck."

"You really have a way with words, you know?"

Laughter echoed around the empty room.


	4. Chapter 3

**Hello everyone! Sorry for the late update!**

 **Thank to those who reviewed and followed! It's actually more motivating than I thought it would be! :)**

 **It was mentioned that the end of the last chapter was a bit confusing, so I've gone back to edit it. Hopefully this chapter won't be!**

 **Today's names:**

 **\- Romulus Vargas: Rome**

 **\- Aldrich Beilschmidt: Germania**

 **\- Athena Karpusi: Ancient Greece**

 **\- Cleo Muhammad Hassan: Egypt**

 **\- Peter Kirkland: Sealand**

 **\- Charles Tailor: Hutt River**

 **Warnings: none apart from minor swearing.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not and will never own Hetalia.**

 **Remember, constructive criticism is appreciated. Please enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

About an hour after the stranger's arrival, Gilbert was finally free to leave the infirmary. Tino had insisted on making sure he had a shower, dried himself properly afterwards, changed clothes and had a hot chocolate before letting him leave, muttering about "irresponsible people" under his breath.

Before he left, the albino glanced at the cross-shaped pin that had been removed from the stranger's hair. He thought for a second before turning to the short nurse.

"Tino, can I take this? I want Eduard to have a look at it," he pointed towards the ornament.

"Hm? Sure, providing you bring it back afterwards. I don't think he'll be awake for a few days, anyway. Oh yeah, _don't_ break it," violet eyes stared pointedly at him.

"Don't worry, I'll be careful. See ya, Tino!" the red-eyed man rolled his eyes and pocketed the clip.

He glimpsed outside, noticing how the storm hadn't yet stopped. Well, that was annoying. He'd have to wait to give it to the IT expert; he doubted the Finn would appreciate him getting soaked again. At least the electricity had returned. Just as he was considering going to the kitchens and convincing whoever was in there to give him some food, an announcement rang through the loudspeakers that could be found in every room and corridor.

"This is Commander Romulus Vargas speaking. May all personnel join me in the meeting hall as soon as possible. I repeat, join me in the meeting hall as soon as possible."

The meeting hall was a large circular room with rows of wooden benches faced towards a long table. This was where the commanders sat. Commanders were pretty much in charge of the Palace and directed the patrollers. So far, there were four of them: two men and two women.

The head of the table was, of course, Romulus Vargas, Feliciano and Lovino's grandfather and one of the most respected people in the establishment. He was tall with short curly brown hair and eyes, and appeared intimidating, but in reality had a great sense of humour and loved both women and men.

Besides him was Aldrich Beilschmidt, Gilbert and Ludwig's own grandfather. They had only found out a few years ago, when the resemblance between the younger brother and him grew too great and, after a DNA test, they were revealed to be related. To be fair, though, it wasn't very surprising. The German was also tall with long blond hair that was often braided and stern blue eyes. He was fairly quiet, but was not one to upset.

On their other side, the women Athena Karpusi and Cleo Muhammad Hassan were gossiping. Both were beautiful, the Grecian with her long wavy brown hair and green eyes, and the Egyptian with her short black hair and amber eyes, but they were deadly. Athena was extremely smart and an excellent tactician, whereas Cleo was notorious for her abilities with poison. Either way, it was better not to mess with them.

The Italian stood up and gestured for the assembly to sit down. The storm continued to rage on behind him.

"Thank you all for coming. I notice that our lookouts aren't here, but considering the weather, I think that's understandable. I trust that one of you will inform them of what's going on?" he peered down at the crowd.

Almost immediately, a short blond male wearing a pink dressing gown raised his hand in excitement.

"I'll, like, totally do it!"

Gilbert glared at him. He disliked the Pole. This was mainly due to the fact that the kid dressed as a girl, was useless at everything and clung on to whoever he liked. And he hadn't been kicked out yet! Bloody connections…

"Good. Now that that's settled, let's move along to what I called you for. Just a few minutes ago, we rescued another stowaway. He is currently being taken care of in the infirmary, and we will interrogate him about his origins once he wakes up. In the meanwhile, I hope you won't bother him. This leads me to my second point: when I give a curfew, I expect you to uphold it!" his almond-coloured eyes locked onto the albino, "do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" they replied as one, some looking guiltier than others.

"Good! Now, is there anything anyone has to report? Seeing as we're all here and the weather is foul, we might as well make the most of it," Commander Vargas smiled happily, seemingly a lot more relaxed.

As someone raised their hand to comment on how the locals were complaining about something, Gilbert clenched the cross pin in his hand. Should he mention it? It sure seemed important, but was it really? What if there was nothing to it and it was just a simple hair ornament that got mixed up with some wire? Finally, he decided to wait until he'd showed it to Eduard.

And, with those thoughts in head, he turned back to the meeting.

* * *

The outside sun was blinding. After the storm, the skies had turned back to blue immediately, resulting in many civilians leaving their shelters and taking a look at their surroundings to check none of their belongings had been blown away.

Wendy frowned as she noted that one of her flower pots had toppled over, and carefully put it upright and refilled it with soil. It had been a week since the Team's disappearance, and whilst they now knew with certitude that Iceland was indeed with the government, a photo of a bruised up teenager having been sent to them recently, and it was highly believed the Lady was with him, they still had no idea where Lukas was.

Charles Tailor, the Australian's superior, had finally convinced her to take a break from her searching, and so she was outside, back to her normal everyday life.

"Oi, Wendy!" a short boy with blond hair and blue eyes waved her over.

She sighed inwardly. Peter Kirkland was a sweet lad, but he was so annoying! He constantly bragged about how he wanted to work for the Resistance, yet hadn't made any attempts to attend their meetings or anything of the sort. It drove her mad!

"What is it?"

"I found out some cool stuff about the Resistance! Do you want to hear?" he beamed back at her, practically shouting in enthusiasm.

Wendy shot him a glare as the people around them turned to stare; some shifting away, others moving closer. A few government soldiers nearby glanced over at them cautiously.

"Shh, moron. They'll hear you," the small girl wacked the blond on the back of the head.

Peter winced, turning to glance at the soldiers behind him. He nodded, and suggested they get an ice-cream. Sighing with relief, they headed to the seafront.

Most of it had been destroyed. There weren't any souvenir shops or restaurants open anymore, there wasn't any need for them. There was, however, an ice-cream parlour. The man who owned it gave them out for free, as those who had remained on the mainland were generally poor.

The shabby building had been bombed many times. Because of this, it was made from a variety of materials: wood, steel and brick were only a few of its components. It was also painted with a rainbow of colours. Whenever it was rebuilt, they had to paint with the pots they actually possessed.

As soon as the two young teens approached, the owner came out to greet them. Carlos Garcias was a man in his late-thirties with dark skin, brown eyes and dreadlocks. At the start of the war, he had fled to France with his parents, but war had followed them there, and, unable to escape to a safe-Isle, they had remained here.

"Peter, Wendy, good to see you! It's been a while, hasn't it?" he beamed down at them.

"Yeah, life's been boring without ice-cream," Peter laughed.

"Isn't Emil with you today? It's been a while since I last saw the kid."

Wendy looked down as he asked the question. She couldn't say he'd been taken by the government, she wasn't supposed to know. If a member of the public found out she was part of the Resistance, she'd be taken away and never seen or heard of again.

"I've visited a few times, but no one was home," the Brit frowned.

"Maybe they moved. I mean, his brother always did seem a bit paranoid," Wendy suggested.

It was better to lie than to not say anything. That would be suspicious.

"He was a bit of a nutter. Talking to things that don't exist and whatnot. I worried about the kid living with that kind of person," Carlos pondered.

Wendy forced herself to remain calm. He didn't know anything. He wasn't part of the resistance after all. How would he know that everything Lukas did, he did to protect his younger brother? Instead, she changed the subject.

"So, can we have some ice-cream please?"

And so the conversation was over. Of course, once they were both licking away at their treats by the seafront, Peter switched back to what he had been about to say earlier on.

"Apparently, the Resistance's Boss' been arrested by the Army. They also caught another member, but he isn't of any use to them," the shorter boy explained, eyes shimmering in excitement.

The Australian shuddered as he mentioned the taboo subject. She didn't know which was worse: the government believing Emil was useless and executing him or the government finding out of his relation to Lukas and torturing him in order to gain information.

"Really? How did they find them? The Resistance keeps everything top-secret, after all. It's odd for one of their members to leak information," maybe she could find out more about the situation.

"Someone gave the Army some tips," the Brit shrugged.

"A member of the Resistance?"

"Dunno. But that's not the best part! They lost the guy they were actually wanting to arrest," he burst out laughing.

This caught Wendy's attention. She had a sinking feeling she knew what they wanted, but she hoped it wasn't so. After all, if that information was leaked, their whole organisation would crumble.

"Who? Wouldn't the boss be enough?"

"Nah, the Resistance doesn't tell each other anything," not completely true, "but, they need to know who's in, who's out, what missions will be accomplished and so on. So, they have one guy who knows everything."

Shit. They knew. They knew. This was bad. This was really bad. She had to get back.

"A-And do they know who it is?" she forced her voice to remain calm.

 _You aren't supposed to be a member of the Resistance, Wendy. There should be no need for you to be nervous about this. Peter can't find out. Peter won't find out. Stay calm._

"Yep, but they couldn't catch him. He managed to escape. The Army's looking for him, though."

"Do they know where he is?"

Peter frowned, scrunching his face up as if he was trying to remember. Finally, he shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face.

"Can't remember."

Great. Just great. She really had to get back to HQ.

 _Well, at least now we know with certainty that Natalya was right. We have a mole, and we need to find out who it is._


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Hello everyone!**

 **Thank you very much to those who reviewed/followed/favourited! :D**

 **I haven't got much to say about this chapter, except that Norway has finally made a proper appearance. Yay! Oh, and it's a bit shorter than usual. Sorry about that! ^^"**

 **Character list:**

 **Theo Wattana: Thailand**

 **Mathias Køhler: Denmark**

 **Lukas Thomasson: Norway**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia still and always will belong to Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Warnings: none except minor language and a slightly disturbing drawing.**

 **Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 4

"Wendy, no offense, but this is a bad idea."

The girl sighed in aggravation as the tall Thai man below her moaned yet again about her plan. Not that his complaints were false, she just needed some support. She really should have thought twice before asking him to help her.

"Be quiet unless you want us to get caught," she hissed down at him.

The twelve year old was currently climbing over the fence that led to her missing agent's house. She had planned to go alone, but she had realised that she was too small and needed someone to help her. The only person on hand just happened to be Theo.

Not that there was anything wrong with him; he was perfectly cheerful and friendly to everyone; but he just didn't get the importance of this mission. Although, to be fair, Wendy wasn't sure herself whether the risk they were taking was worth it. After all, what good would breaking in Lukas' house do?

The Australian heaved herself over the top of the fence and jumped down to the ground, quickly followed by the taller male. She glanced around, keeping an eye out for soldiers. Considering the Army knew who Lukas was, there was a high chance they also knew where he lived, therefore they would probably investigate the place to check he hadn't left any information lying around.

Luckily, no one seemed to be there, so she quickly ran to the house. Now, how to get in? By some miracle, the kitchen window was open. She slipped inside, not letting her guard down.

The kitchen was tidy, not a single thing seemed out of place. Obviously the Army hadn't had a look around yet.

"Christ, this place is tidy!" Theo whistled in admiration.

"We are talking about the Steilsson brothers. Are you honestly surprised?" Wendy smirked.

"What are we looking for, anyway?"

"Anything Lukas could have left us. It's unlikely he didn't plan in advance in case he was arrested."

 _Think, Wendy, think. Where would Lukas have left anything important? His bedroom, maybe?_

It wasn't hard to find the young man's bedroom. Just as neat as the rest of the house, everything had a spot on the shelves. Well, almost everything. A desk in the window was the only untidy surface in the room.

Wendy approached cautiously, identifying the many papers on the table as drawings. They were extremely well-done, in pencil. The details were astounding. The first picture was of a troll, a great big humanoid-creature with a beard and fangs was looking out at her. Then, underneath that one, a few pixies were flying over a lake. As the young girl looked through more and more images, she noticed that although most of them represented magical beings, with the exception of the last few.

One was a drawing of Emil, the boy easily recognisable with his frown and bored expression. The next was a violin, intricate carvings on the polished wood. Then, there was a mole. A cute little creature, or at least it would have been, if not for the fact that its eyes were wide open. Inside the eyes, small skulls seemed to be laughing. She also recognised that some of the thicker lines were meant to represent blood. Finally, there was a flag. However, the drawing seemed unfinished. For one, the flag was entirely white. Then, the scenery around it wasn't complete. There was a bit of sand, a bit of forest, but nothing behind it.

"Wow, I didn't know Lukas drew. He's really good! We could sell these," her companion picked up the troll representation and stared at it intently.

But Wendy's mind was elsewhere. Lukas knew about the mole. Those last drawings were meant for her to find, she knew it. Emil's face probably showed his fear of his brother getting kidnapped. But what did the flag and violin mean?

"Theo, do you know if Lukas played the violin?"

"No idea. The guy didn't really interact much with the rest of us. Why?"

"I think he was trying to tell us something with these drawings. If he plays the violin, this," she motioned towards the pencil instrument, "would make more sense."

Theo shrugged, but turned around and headed straight towards the wardrobe. He opened the door and started to rummage inside. Wendy shot him a strange look, but turned back to the picture. What did he mean? What had he been trying to tell them?

"Found it!" Theo called from his position, removing a violin case from its depths.

"Great! Well? Is there anything inside?" the younger agent joined him.

The Thai man opened it up. Inside was a shiny violin, with fancy lettering on the sides. Of course, they had no way of identifying the language, which was a mixture of shapes, letters, and Chinese characters. Wendy felt her heart soar and sink at the same time. He had left them a message, but he hadn't left any ways to decipher it.

"What language is this supposed to be?" Theo wondered aloud.

"Lukas talk. There's more here," Wendy peered inside the wardrobe.

There were hundreds of loose pieces of paper, all containing the strange writing on them. Many symbols were similar, but with small differences, such as an extra line somewhere or a spot besides it. Whatever it meant, Lukas had made sure it was undecipherable.

"We'll take them with us. There must be some way to decode it, and it's better we have them than the government," she finally decided, scooping them up in her arms.

"Got it. Anything else we're stealing?"

"We're not stealing. We're simply keeping them safe from the Army. And we'll check in Emil's room next," Wendy directed him, already out the room.

It took them an hour to fully check the house for anything of interest, and they had about five piles of paper with strange writing on them. Happy with herself, the Australian left the house with a smile on her face.

Now, they just had to analyse everything.

* * *

"Well? Think you can fix it?" Gilbert frowned.

In front of him, Eduard von Bock was inspecting the cross-shaped pin. His eyebrows were furrowed as he pulled at the wires, and his blue eyes were completely focused on the ornament.

"It's definitely a communication device. Whether I can fix it or not isn't the problem, it's whether it will fully function afterwards. Leave it with me a few days, and I should be finished with it," the Estonian finally lifted his head to look at the German.

"Awesome. Well, guess I'll be off then. Good luck," the albino nodded.

As he wandered through the corridors aimlessly, he found himself nearing the infirmary. That wasn't much of a surprise, though. His feet had often lead him there recently. What he didn't expect was to hear a crash, followed by a cry of pain. Instantly worried, he ran over.

Inside the infirmary, a strange scene was going on. Mathias Køhler, a friend of his, was holding his hand to the side of his face, staring in surprise at the stranger, who was swaying slightly on the spot. Tino was standing between the two, his violet eyes never leaving the unsteady man.

"What's going on?" Gilbert made his presence known, stepping into the room.

"Gilbert, stay right where you are! Don't move!" the Finn immediately snapped at him without turning his head.

"Where am I?" the stranger spoke up.

His voice was surprisingly low considering his appearance, yet it was soft and gentle. He was shaking slightly, more likely due to fatigue rather than fear. His blue eyes remained emotionless, hiding whatever he was thinking.

"You're in the Palace Infirmary, on the safe-isle of Hetalia. I'm Tino Väinämöinen, a nurse here, the man you just punched his Mathias Køhler, a patroller, and the man by the door is Gilbert Beilschmidt, also a patroller. You're safe," the small blond tried to reassure him.

"Hetalia? But that's in the Atlantic Ocean…" the pale blond male frowned slightly.

"What's your name?"

"… Are you allied with the Army?" he ignored the question.

This time, it was the Palace dwellers' turn to frown. What did he mean by the Army? Had they ever heard that name before.

"What the actual heck is the Army? Some sort of unawesome patrol unit?" Gilbert snickered.

"You haven't heard of the Army?"

"No idea!" Mathias laughed.

The patient shot them a disbelieving look, as if they were incredibly dim children. Then, hesitantly, he answered Tino's initial question.

"My name's Lukas. Lukas St-Thomasson," he quickly caught himself.

Gilbert and Tino exchanged a glance. He was lying. But why? Mathias on the other hand kept on smiling like an idiot and took a step forward, patting Lukas on the back.

"Nice to meet'cha, Lukas! Welcome to the Isle!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey there! Thank you to Poisonlilie for reviewing and to the rest of you for reading! Sorry for the short chapter, the next one should be longer!**

 **This time, I finally get to use Norway's P.O.V, which was a lot of fun! Oh, and the last part is supposed to be sort of confusing, so if you don't understand everything, it will make more sense later on.**

 **Character list:**

 **Leo Johansson: Ladonia**

 **David Smith: Molossia**

 **Marco: Kugelmugel (in case you forgot from one of the previous chapters)**

 **Luciano: Seborga**

 **Emil Steilsson: Iceland**

 **Diev Bachchan: India**

 **Warnings: minor swearing, physical violence, mentions of torture**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Please enjoy! Constructive criticism is appreciated!**

* * *

Chapter 5

Lukas was confused. Very confused. First of all, he'd woken up in the Isle of Hetalia, a safe-isle off the Atlantic Coast, then he'd discovered that the people there had no idea who the Army was, and finally, the guy he'd punched just a few seconds ago was treating him like a good friend. Were the fae playing tricks on him again?

Suddenly realising that his body ached and he felt weak, he sat back down on the bed, keeping an eye of the Islanders. The smallest man was smiling, yet his eyes were sharp. Lukas recognised him straight away.

 _Tino Väinämöinen. Ex-Sniper in the Finnish Secret Services. What's he doing here as a nurse?_

Then there was the albino. He reminded him of someone. Someone who died years and years ago. Someone who he thought was out of his life forever.

 _Julchen Beilschmidt's little brother? The fae really are playing tricks with me._

The third guy, however, was a total stranger. The Norwegian quickly set his mind on remembering him.

 _Mathias Køhler, blond, gravity-defying hair, blue eyes, tall, patroller._

"Are you hungry?" the nurse asked him.

He thought for a moment. He was hungry, yes, but what if they poisoned him? Wait, why would they poison him? They didn't know about the Army, so they wouldn't know about him. What's more, they seemed friendly enough…

"Yes, please."

"Mathias, go and fetch him something to eat. Gilbert, you can leave now," the Finn ordered the other two.

"Yep, I'm on it! See ya in a minute, Luka!" the happy-go-lucky man ran out of the room.

"It's Lukas," the smaller man grumbled quietly.

The albino hesitated before leaving, shooting a worried glance at the nurse before he left the room. As soon as he was gone, the smaller man turned to the foreigner. His violet eyes immediately narrowed.

"Why did you lie about your last name?" Tino questioned him.

"Have you told them you're a sniper?" Lukas fired back.

His words had the desired effect. All of a sudden, the Finn paled at his words, eyes widening.

"How did you-?"

"Tino Väinämöinen, twenty seven years old. You were found and trained by the Finnish Secret Services when you were eight years old. By age eleven, you'd become one of the best snipers in the regiment. But then, for reasons unknown, you left and fled to a safe-isle," the blue-eyed man recited.

Now, however, the sniper just stared grimly at him, realisation dawning on his face.

"You're a spy," he stated firmly, without hesitation.

"No, I just have a good memory. I assume you won't tell anyone about this?"

Tino gritted his teeth as he agreed with the manipulative stranger. Lukas allowed himself to relax. Good. This would be easier than he thought.

* * *

Wendy groaned as she went through the papers for what felt like the hundredth time. Still nothing. No clues whatsoever as to what their human database had been trying to tell them. The small team she had put aside to study the language wasn't faring well at all.

Leo was swearing angrily as he furiously smashed the keyboard, Marco was grumbling about how ugly the drawings were, Luciano was sighing tiredly, David looked about ready to shoot the valuable sheets and Charles was pinching his nose in concentration.

Finally, the red-head spoke up.

"This is getting us nowhere! I say Lukas was barking mad and we call it a day," he shouted.

"Lukas wasn't mad. These definitely mean something. However, I agree that I have no idea how we're going to decode them," Charles sighed.

"I don't like the drawings. They're a disgrace to art," Marco whispered.

"Hey, don't we know a language specialist of something? He'd probably figure it out sooner than we would," Luciano suggested, stretching his aching limbs.

Wendy thought hard. Language specialist. Did they know anyone like that? Suddenly, David spoke up.

"What about that asshole India?"

They fell silent. Diev Bachchan, aka India, used to be a member of the Resistance, until he had decided one day to abandon them during a mission, almost resulting in the death of one of their members. They had never spoken to him since.

"We can't just go and see that traitor! He's allied with the Army!" the Swede exclaimed, shooting the American an "are you crazy" look.

"He might be our only hope. It's not like any of us can translate this damn thing," the black-haired young man shrugged.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I think you're right," Wendy furrowed her eyebrows.

"You do know there's a high chance he won't be willing to help us, or that he'll share everything he's found with the Army, right?" The Italian pointed out.

"Well then, we'll just have to figure out a way to negotiate with him," Charles smiled, brown eyes gleaming.

* * *

The cell was tiny. Its walls were a bright white in colour, as were its flooring and ceiling. There weren't any windows, making it impossible to know how much time had passed. The door was a steel grey, locked and sealed securely, preventing all forms of escape. An old light bulb hung from the ceiling, flickering every now and again, sending a dim light around the room. In the centre, a single chair stood. It was wooden, with red cushions padding its back and bottom.

In the chair was a boy. The young man couldn't have been older than fifteen, with silvery hair and delicate features. His pale skin was dotted with bruises and marks, resulting in a canvas of red, blue, black, green and yellow. One of his eyes was closed, a circle of purple surrounding it. The other was open, a vivid violet glancing around the room. He was securely restrained with handcuffs and chains, and a gag covered his mouth to keep him from screaming. There was no way for him to escape.

Suddenly, the door opened and a man entered. He was tall, with coffee-coloured skin and gentle brown eyes. He knelt down in front of the teen and started to speak.

"Where is Norway?"

No answer. As expected, seeing that his mouth was covered, but those violet orbs glared so violently that he didn't need one. The man stood up and sighed.

"I don't want to hurt you."

A scoff in reply. The boy's captor ran his hand through his black hair in exasperation. He then moved his hand towards his prisoner. The boy flinched, but instead of hitting him, the gag was simply removed. The pale teen coughed and licked his dry lips a few times, pulling a face in disgust.

"Well?"

"I don't know," his words were laced with venom despite his cracked voice.

"Iceland, tell me where Norway is," the man repeated.

"I told you: I don't know. And even if I did, there's no way I'd tell a traitor like you, India," the Icelandic teen spat back.

For a split-second, a look of regret passed across the ex-resistant's face. But, as quickly as it came, it faded and one of rage appeared instead. Without hesitation, he punched the boy's face.

"You don't know everything, Iceland," the Indian said bitterly.

A shrug in response. Despite his situation, the teen wasn't intimidated.

"You really don't know where Norway is?"

"Why would I? He doesn't tell us anything, and we were ambushed. I'm surprised he's still alive," Iceland responded coldly.

"He's your brother."

"And?"

"Nothing."

And with that, the Indian left, leaving the young teen alone in the dim lighting once more.

* * *

Inside the control room, a man stood staring at the screen. In it, an image of their prisoner was reflected.

"They're brothers?" he asked.

Behind him, Diev Bachchan nodded, cowering.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell us that sooner?" the boss's voice was cold, harsh.

"Please excuse me, sir. I thought you already knew," the Indian apologized.

"Well, we didn't."

"I apologise, sir."

"Don't omit information again, Bachchan."

"I won't, sir."

No, he wouldn't. If he did, he would be killed. No doubt about it.

"This is important information. Do you know why?"

"No, sir."

"If Iceland is Norway's brother, and Norway finds out his brother is being tortured, you'd think he would come and save him, right?" the taller man's lips pulled into an evil smile.

"But he's just a child, sir… " Diev's eyes widened in shock.

"And? He is a member of the Resistance, he should have thought about the consequences before he joined. Find out where Norway is and prepare the torture. Don't forget the video recorder and camera. We will capture that criminal if it's the last thing we do."

As the Army's leader stared coldly back at the screen, he crumpled a blurry picture of the missing agent in his fist. His own agent took a step back, trembling.

"…Yes, sir…" he sighed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey everyone! I'm really sorry for the late update! I've been really busy lately, so haven't had time to write much. At least it's the holidays now, which means that I should have more time on my hands.**

 **Thank you to TransparentRuler and AmethystFairy1 for reviewing the previous chapter! It's loads of fun reading them! :)** **Quite a lot of new characters introduced this chapter, but we're getting somewhere:**

 **Arthur Kirkland: England**

 **Jeff Brown: Australia**

 **Louise Costa: Monaco**

 **Sadiq Adnan: Turkey**

 **Gupta Muhammad Hassan: Egypt**

 **Lee Chen: Macau**

 **Warnings: swearing, mentions of blackmail, gambling and bribing**

 **Constructive criticism is always welcomed!**

 **Please enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 6

It had been a week since Lukas had arrived at the Isle, and he was slowly mingling with the other patrollers. Tino had insisted he stayed in the Palace, mainly so the nurse could keep an eye on his injuries. As a result, Mathias had taken the newcomer under his wing, much to the Norwegian's disappointment.

As for Gilbert, life was back to its normal routine: patrolling and pissing off Roderich. Right now, however, he was making the most of a rare two-person patrol consisting of Elizaveta and himself. This meant that he could spend some time with his childhood friend and have fun.

"Race you to the nearest village!" the Hungarian called, urging her stallion into a gallop.

"You're on!"

They both charged along the path, overtaking each other, shouting and laughing. Once they reached the small settlement, they slowed to a walk. And then the argument started.

"I won!"

"No, you didn't! I won!"

"Yeah right! The Awesome me was a mile in front of you!"

They burst out laughing, exchanging playful punches and jabs. Their fun was interrupted, however, by a young man with sandy blond hair, emerald-green eyes and the bushiest eyebrows in the world. He was frowning and opened his mouth to complain. Quickly, before he could utter a word, the brown-haired woman spoke up.

"Hello, Arthur! Nice day, isn't it?" she smiled pleasantly.

"Yes, it is, actually. A lot different from last week's storm," the Englishman agreed, "besides that, though, I heard you have a new resident in the Palace. Have you showed him around town yes?"

"No, he's quite reclusive. We don't see him much," Elizaveta admitted.

"In that case, why don't I take him for a walk someday?"

Gilbert just stared. Arthur Kirkland, the grumpiest person in the world, was offering his help? Was the world ending or something? Obviously the Brit realised this, as his cheeks turned red and he looked away.

"If you really want to know, the fae have been bugging to meet him," he huffed.

Both patrollers exchanged a glance, trying their best to stifle their laughter. Arthur was a bit crazy, going on and on about fairies, unicorns and flying bunnies. Generally, these "creatures" didn't like people, but every now and then, they would "ask" to "meet" someone. This was generally an awkward experience for those involved.

"Those unawesome fairies don't even exist! You just want to see the new guy, who is unawesomely boring may I add!" Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Just because great brutes like you can't see them doesn't mean they don't exist," Arthur retorted, thoroughly exasperated.

"Whatever you say, unawesome loser! Come on, Liz, let's go."

Without waiting for a response, the albino turned away. Liz sighed but followed him, bidding the Brit a polite farewell as she went. The two continued their round of the town, checking that the residents were happy. However, the German man was distracted.

Ever since Lukas had asked him whether they were part of the Army, he had been wondering what it was. The way the foreigner had said it made it sound like it was common knowledge, so why didn't anyone in the Isle know about it?

As they finished their patrol, Liz suddenly changed direction, heading towards the sandy beach.

"Oi, Liz, you're going the wrong way!" Gilbert called over to her.

"No, I'm not. We're going to the beach," she retorted firmly.

Hearing that commanding tome, he realised that she wanted to talk about something. Confused, he followed her.

Once they were finally at the beach, the Hungarian dismounted and tied her stallion's reins to a nearby tree branch before sitting down on the sand. The albino quickly did the same.

"Well? What is it?" he sighed.

"Shouldn't that be my line?" the brown-haired woman replied, amused.

"Huh?"

"You've been distracted lately. What's on your mind?"

Despite her casual tone, her green eyes shone with worry. Being one of the only girls in the Patrol Unit, she had become a mother or big sister of some sorts to everyone there. However, this meant that she would often worry about them all.

Although he'd never admit it out loud, Gilbert was touched by her concern. After all, even though they often fought, they did appreciate each other. The albino even hoped that she liked him more than that.

"Have you ever heard of the Army?"

"What do you mean? An army is simply a country's first line of defence. Even a moron like you knows that."

"No, with a capital A. The Army. Lukas mentioned it."

"With a capital A…? I've never heard of it. Why don't you ask Lukas about it, if he was the one to bring it up?" Elizaveta frowned.

"You think he'd actually tell me? That unawesome newbie is even more antisocial than Kiku was when he first got here!" Gilbert laughed.

"Gil! He's only just arrived! It's normal for him to be nervous and stay away from us!" the green-eyed lady huffed exasperatedly.

"Alfie wasn't like that. Neither were Matie, Toni or Francey-Pants."

The young woman grimaced and gave him a look. Yeah… Probably not the best examples.

The Hungarian shook her head and smiled.

"Give him time to open up. Then ask him. I'm sure that whatever it is, it's nothing for us to worry about," she stood up.

"I guess so…"

He wasn't convinced. If it was nothing to worry about, then why had the Norwegian hesitated in giving them his name? Why had he arrived covered in injuries? And that pin… Eduard was still looking into it, but they were both practically certain it was a communication device. If that was the case, then why did Lukas need one? What exactly was he hiding from the rest of the Patrollers?

Suddenly, Liz smacked him on the head.

"I told you to stop worrying, you idiot. It'll be no fun winning the race if your head is in the clouds," she teased him.

"Oi! I'll beat your unawesome backside any day!" Gilbert immediately jumped to his feet.

As the two raced back to the Palace, his concerns faded softly into the back of his mind. Liz was right in a way. There was nothing he could do about it now. He would just have to wait.

* * *

In the Resistance's HQ, the entire first branch was up and at it. The organisation was split into several branches, although only Lukas knew who everyone was. The other members only knew fighters of their own branch, and maybe the odd one or two from different sections. This was set up in order to prevent the whole organisation being shut down if one member was caught.

Sitting around a long glass table, the higher ranking members were staring at each other. It had been an entire week since they had started analysing Lukas's papers, and so far, there had been no progress. Wendy and Charles had been looking up ways to negotiate with India, but had come up with nothing that would work.

Exasperated, they had called upon the higher ranking members of the first branch in order to find a solution.

"So, here's the situation: On the 3rd of October, Norway, Lukas Steilsson, went on a mission alongside the Lady and Iceland, Emil Steilsson. However, they were ambushed. Whilst the Lady and Iceland were arrested by the Army, Norway vanished from our radar. A few days later, on the 10th of October, Thailand, Theo Wattana, and myself broke into his house in order to protect valuable objects. There, we found these papers. The team I'd assigned to analysing them and working out what they mean has made no progress, so we came up with the idea to ask ex-Resistance member Diev Bachchan, old code name India, to translate them, as he's a language expert. Unfortunately, we believe that he has allied himself with the Army, so any information we receive will be given to them as well," Wendy explained.

All around her, the operatives were thinking over what she had just told them. Charles looked exhausted, but shot her a supportive smile from the other side of the table. All around him, the other members of the translating group were trying their best to appear alert, but were failing. Marco was dozing off on Ladonia's shoulder, and Molossia kept on yawning. The Australian was also tired, the sleepless nights taking their toll on her as well, but had to stay awake for everyone else's sake.

"This isn't a very happy drawing, is it?"

Directly opposite her, Russia was looking over the drawing of the mole. He wore a small smile on his face, one of his unnerving ones. Ivan was one of the most dangerous operatives, skilled in the art of blackmail and torture, yet appearing as innocent as a five-year-old.

"We believe it to represent the fear that we have a mole in our organisation."

Chaos exploded after her sentence. The only calm members being Belarus, who had originally pointed it out to Wy, Russia, who had probably been told by his younger sister and Wy's team.

"Shouldn't Turkey know about this mole? After all, he is working a double-agent in the Army," Macau, a soft-spoken young man, looked over to the mask-bearer.

"I've told 'ya before. I'm not ranked high enough yet to know who's sent where. I've only just come back from my mission in America, so I'm a bit out of the know with what's goin' on," the dark-skinned man rolled his eyes.

Turkey, or Sadiq Adnan, had joined the Resistance when it had first formed. Back then, the Head had ordered him to infiltrate the Army, so that they could have an idea of what their enemies were up to. Despite his long time there, however, he failed to climb many ranks due to an incident a few years ago. He had been ordered to prevent a group of people fleeing to a safe-island, but he had helped one escape. This had caused the entire force to lose trust in him.

"How can we be sure we have a mole in our ranks?" Monaco, a lady in charge of the Resistance's finances, spoke up.

"How else would the Army know where to set an ambush?" Belarus shot back, her voice icy.

"Calm down, mates, there's no need to start a fight," Australia interrupted.

Wendy shot him a grateful glance. The Australian wasn't the best fighter or negotiator, but he was supportive and helpful which made him more useful than he looked.

"Australia is right. If we do have a mole in our ranks, then fighting amongst ourselves won't solve anything. What would help, though, was if we could make sense of these papers. Does anyone know how we can negotiate with India?" the shorter girl nodded in her senior's direction.

There was silence as everyone pondered the question. It was Monaco who decided to speak.

"We could blackmail him. We know a good deal about him, maybe something that would ruin his reputation?" she suggested, "of course, if that doesn't work, we could just bribe him. We have the money."

"That could work… Any other suggestions?"

Russia was the next to raise his hand.

"We could beat him to a pulp if he refuses to co-operate," he beamed.

Pretty much everyone simply looked around nervously. Wendy forced a smile, even though she was sweating.

"Maybe as a last resort. Um… anyone got any legal solutions?" she laughed nervously.

"Why are ya so caught up in the bastard? There must be other translators in the world," Turkey pointed out.

His eyes were concealed by his mask, but judging by the tone of his voice, he was displeased by the thought of having to depend on a traitor. Especially when he had been around when said traitor had betrayed them all.

"Do you know anyone, then?" Belarus challenged him.

"Well, actually, know that you mention i'… There's this kid in my bunk. He's always got his nose in a book and he studies ancient languages, so maybe he could help us."

Wendy thought about it. Since India had betrayed them in the past, there was no reason to trust him with keeping Lukas's notes secret. However, they had no idea who this kid Turkey mentioned was.

"I'm assuming he's a member of the Army?" Lee raised his eyebrows.

"Yep! Bu' I feel we can trust him. I mean, he hasn't ever spoken to me or anything, but he seems trustworthy, if ya know wha' I mean."

And that was why the Turk wasn't entrusted with important missions. Most of the assembly was gazing at him in disdain or disbelief. Before anyone could suggest anything else, Wendy spoke up.

"Unless you can be sure he isn't loyal to the Army, then no. I'm sorry, but we can't risk anything."

"At least he isn' a traitor!" the mask-bearer protested angrily.

"And that is why we're going to blackmail or bribe him. Everyone, try to find as much information about India as you can. If anyone finds anything useful, tell Monaco. Since it was her idea and she's better at gambling than we are, I'm asking her to take over," the Australian glanced over at their finance manager.

"It would be my pleasure," the long-haired lady smiled politely.

"Good. Now that that's sorted, meeting adjourned."

* * *

Sadiq Adnan, aka Turkey, stormed through the soldiers' quarters that evening, fuming in anger. They were trusting _India_? The same guy who killed _her_? Were they out of their mind? If Lukas were here, then _he_ 'd talk sense into them!

As he slammed his room's door, his roommate lifted his head from the book he was reading. Gupta Muhammad Hassan was believed by most to be mute. He had never spoken to anyone, not even to the officers. Despite this, he was a capable soldier and Sadiq considered him a friend.

The Egyptian turned back to his book.

"What're ya readin'?" the Turk tried to read the back, but it was written in some strange language he couldn't understand.

No answer. The brown-eyed boy continued to read. Leaving him be, Sadiq removed his mask and collapsed onto the top bunk. He was tired, annoyed and fed up. He might as well sleep.

"Night," he grumbled.

Unnoticed, his roommate gave him a small smile and a nod in reply.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey everyone! Sorry I'm late again (I think it's becoming a habit)! This is a short chapter, but the next will be longer.**

 **Thank you to the many people who reviewed/followed/favourited!**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me. It belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz.**

 **Warnings: none.**

* * *

Chapter 7

Lukas was fed up. Ever since his arrival, the other inhabitants, or patrollers as they called themselves, had been overly friendly with him. They seemed to live in some happy bubble where nothing bad could ever happen to them. He found himself stuck with the always cheerful Mathias Køhler, who insisted on showing him the ropes, the stoic and intimidating Berwald Oxenstierna and the friendly but dangerous Tino Väinämöinen. The latter still didn't trust him, but kept his dislike hidden behind a smile.

"Luka! I'm going on patrol! See ya later!" the ridiculously loud Dane yelled from the corridor as he ran outside.

"It's Lukas, you idiot," the Norwegian sighed in response.

How he couldn't remember such a simple name was beyond the shorter male. Well, at least he was left alone for once. Berwald was having a look at the gates and Tino was busy with a group of farmers who had caught the flu.

He walked out to one of the big windows overlooking the beach. Where was Emil? Had he escaped? What about the Lady? As much as he hoped they were in HQ searching for him, he doubted that was the case. If only he had managed to bring them along with him!

 _No. There was no time,_ he scolded himself interiorly.

The thing that irritated him the most, though, was that he had been caught unawares. He had believed their mission to be safe, yet they had been ambushed.

 _If only I knew who the mole was._

He had suspected them having a mole in their ranks for a while now. It had only been confirmed after his house had been broken into. Luckily, he preferred writing his plans in Trolsk, a language he had invented just in case something like that ever happened.

He really hoped the Resistance had collected those papers. Whether or not they'd be able to translate them was a different question, but at least the Army wouldn't have them. He had no doubt India would crack the language eventually, so it was vital he didn't get a hand on any of those papers.

And thinking about the Army, why didn't the Patrollers know about it? Sure, they lived in the Atlantic Ocean and he doubted they would receive much news from the outside world, but the Army must have tried to contact them at some point!

 _The Isle of Hetalia. Think. What happened?_

He hadn't researched the safe-isles, something he now regretted.

 _Hold on! Hetalia? Weird Italy? Or was that Useless Italy? But then that means… Romulus Vargas! That rich mad Italian who bought an island for himself and his sons! No wonder the patrollers have no idea what the Army is! The Army is terrified of him!_

A rare smile spread across his face. He was safe here. He could make plans without those annoying soldiers getting in his way.

 _Don't worry, Emil. If you have been captured, then I will rescue you. And I will destroy anyone who stands in my way._

"Um, Mr Thomasson?"

He jumped as a shy voice interrupted his thoughts. Turning his head, he recognised the brown-haired man with green eyes.

 _Toris Laurinaitis. Lookout. Lithuanian. Hardworking but taken advantage of all the time._

"What is it?" his voice was monotonous, not giving anything away.

"Mr Kirkland has requested for you to visit him," Toris shot him an apologetic look.

"Who?" Lukas was confused.

He had met most of the people who lived in the Palace but had never heard the name "Kirkland" before.

"Arthur Kirkland. He lives in one of the villages. He sometimes asks to meet new recruits."

"I'm not a new recruit."

The Resistance member was adamant on that. He wasn't a patroller. He fought against the government. His stay here was only temporary.

"I know, but he's still asked for you to see him," the Lithuanian tried to reassure him.

Realising that there was no way he was getting out of this, Lukas reluctantly accepted. He should have known that peace and quiet wouldn't come that easily.

* * *

"Do we have to do this, Liz? Can't we just give him directions and hope he gets there safely?" Gilbert grumbled.

He didn't want to see Arthur Kirkland again. However, both he and Elizaveta had to escort Lukas to the Brit's home, much to his disappointment.

"No, we can't. Now stop complaining. You wanted to ask Lukas about the Army anyway, didn't you?" the brown-haired woman rolled her eyes.

Gilbert huffed and looked back at the Palace doors. Toris was leading Lukas over, explaining the situation to him. The stranger seemed even less happy than the patroller at the news.

"Thanks, Toris. You ready, Lukas?" the green-eyed lady smiled at the two men.

"I guess," the blond quickly mounted the horse they had brought out for him.

The German resisted the urge to snigger. It was obvious the newcomer wasn't used to riding. He was wobbling in his seat and holding the reins too loosely. After the patrollers had given him a quick lesson in not falling off, they set off.

"Have you ever thought about investing in cars?" Lukas sighed.

"Nah, horses are way more fun. And they're better for the environment," the albino laughed, patting Arger's neck.

"Most of the world's population is dead, the forests destroyed and petrol used up, and you still worry about the environment?" the blond shot back in disbelief.

"Well, we're alive, aren't we?" Elizaveta shrugged.

"What's Arthur Kirkland like?"

There was an awkward silence. Should they be honest or not?

 _Oh, to hell with politeness!_

"He's a nutcase. Completely bonkers."

"Gilbert!" his friend scolded.

"What? It's true!"

"Maybe, but that's no reason to say it!"

Before their argument could escalate into a fight, Lukas interrupted them.

"Why do you say he's crazy?"

"Because he talks to fairies, unicorns and flying critters. You can't get much crazier than that. He's totally unawesome."

As the childhood friends returned to their argument, neither noticed how the stranger had almost fallen off his horse in shock.

* * *

Lukas quickly gathered his composure and followed his guides. Fairies? This Arthur Kirkland spoke to fairies? If that was the case, then he didn't know whether he was doomed or saved.

Around him, the scenery had started to change. The thick green forest was giving way to fields of crops. Stone houses were slowly gaining visibility as they approached them. The village was small but in good shape with villagers scurrying around, a few calling greetings to the nearby patrollers.

Gibert and Elizaveta led Lukas past the rows of buildings to an isolated house by a cliff. There, they dismounted and gestured for the Norwegian to do the same. Then, the Hungarian knocked on the door.

As soon as it opened, Lukas felt the energy this place possessed. His eyes widened as he spotted tiny winged humans flying about, most fluttering around the inhabitant's head.

Arthur Kirkland was well-dressed and his dirty blond hair was combed. Even the extremely bushy eyebrows seemed to have had something done to them. Green eyes fixed Lukas warmly.

"Hello there. You're Lukas Thomasson, I assume?" he smiled.

"Yes, I am…"

"Arthur Kirkland. It's a pleasure to meet you. The fae have been dying to catch a glimpse of you. Please come inside," he then turned to the other two, who were slowly backing away, "would you two like to come in as well?"

"Thank you for the offer, but we'll decline. We've got things to do," the brown-haired woman excused herself politely.

"All right then. I'll see you later then! Come on, Lukas, we have much to talk about!"

Ignoring the pitying looks he was receiving, Lukas followed his host inside the house, trying not to stare at the magical beings flying around. He could ask about those later. He already felt that this would be an interesting afternoon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey everyone! First of all, thank you to those of you who followed or reviewed! It really helped to motivate me, especially as I've been waging war on my computer after it almost deleted this chapter many times!**

 **With a bit of luck, I'll be returning to my usual update schedule from now on!**

 **Not much to say, apart from this chapter was a lot of fun to write (I love the magic trio)!**

 **Constructive criticism is always appreciated!**

 **Disclaimer: I still don't own Hetalia. It will always belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

 **Today's character list:**

 **\- Feliks Lukasiewicz: Poland**

 **\- Aleksander Nicolescu: Bulgaria**

 **\- Vladimir** **Lupei: Romania**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Arthur Kirkland's house was neat and tidy, albeit a bit strange. There were dreamcatchers and bird feeders hanging from the ceiling, dusty pots and lamps on the shelves, old books covering the floor and horseshoes clinging to the walls. Tiny fairies and pixies flew around, every now and then picking something off a feeder and gathering on the roof of a dollhouse.

Lukas decided not to mention the creatures for the time being, installing himself on an old fashioned armchair and waiting for the Englishman to return. His eyes rested upon a green bunny with tiny wings that smelled strangely of fresh mint.

Soon enough, the strange man returned with a tray containing a teapot, two mugs, some milk and sugar, alongside some strange burnt things that Lukas guessed might be scones.

"Sugar? Milk?" Arthur sat down.

"Neither. Thank you," he grasped the hot mug from his host's hand.

"Please feel free to have a scone. I made them myself."

For some reason, the fairies started to shake their heads frantically. Slightly worried about whether the green-eyed Brit was trying to poison him, he politely declined.

"The fairies have been very excited to meet you. They've been pestering me for days. So tell me, lad, where are you from?" Arthur finally started the conversation.

"Norway. Your house is very… individual," Lukas chose his words carefully, eyes never leaving the assemblies of tiny winged beings.

"The fairies like them. As does Mint here," at this, the blond gestured towards the sleeping bunny.

"I see… She's quite an unusual rabbit, isn't she? What is she?"

His words provoked quite a surprising reaction. Emerald green eyes looked back at him in shock. Millions of flying creatures gathered behind the Brit. The rabbit opened its eyes and perched on her owner's shoulder.

"You can see them too?" Arthur gaped at him.

"Of course. They're difficult to miss, aren't they?" the Norwegian couldn't help smiling.

It had been a long time since he had last met someone who saw the same things as he did. It was always reassuring, reminding him that he wasn't crazy. Obviously this was the first time the man opposite him had met anyone like him.

"How?"

"I don't know. I've always been able to see them," the blue-eyed man shrugged.

Arthur stared at him for a few seconds before taking another sip of his tea. The pretty fae settled back onto the bird feeders.

"Well then, I suppose we'll just have to conclude that the world is a strange place," he smiled.

"Indeed."

"How did you get here?"

Lukas hesitated. Lie or tell the truth?

 _He can see the supernatural, so he shouldn't be taken too seriously. But I'm not risking it._

"I'd heard about safe-isles before, so I thought I'd try living in one. Sadly, my ship sank. I'm lucky I didn't die," he lied smoothly.

Much to his surprise, however, Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Really? And you just happened to pick the Isle of Hetalia?" he smiled slyly.

"It's one of the safest isle there is."

"I know that, Romulus Vargas himself owns it. I'm not stupid," the dirty blond rolled his eyes.

"So where else would I go?"

"You just decided to leave? Like that?" again with that smile.

 _Why of all people do I have to spend the afternoon with the one who doubts something?_

The Norwegian sighed inwardly. He really didn't have much luck lately, did he?

"Yes, I did. Is there a problem with that?" he glared back at Arthur.

"You weren't fleeing the Army?"

Lukas froze. The way Arthur smiled showed that he knew. Lying was pointless. It really wasn't his week. But how did he know?

"My cousin still lives in the mainland. He keeps me up-to-date with what's been going on over there," the green-eyed man explained.

"Is that why you invited me over?" the blue-eyed male sighed.

"Partly. The fairies really did want to meet you, though. So, what really happened?"

And so Lukas told him everything. Of how he had been on a mission with the Lady and his brother when they had been ambushed and how he had jumped into the ocean, leaving his companions. Arthur listened intently, nodding and frowning at various points of the story.

"So you're the famous "guy who knows everything" Peter's being going on about. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I'm not too fond of the Army myself. I mean, they started this war, didn't they?" the Brit chuckled.

"The war you're talking about ended years ago when the Army took over. We haven't been bombed since," Lukas shook his head.

"Then why do you fight against the Army? Surely they've brought peace to our world?" the shorter male frowned in confusion.

"You mean they've imposed a regime of poverty where speaking out is illegal. The Resistance fights them because they are all murderers. If they truly were any good, then they would have informed the rest of the world that the war is over. Instead, safe-isles believe the war is still ongoing. Even the world's people believe their lies."

"I see… So will you be returning to the mainland?"

"Of course. But there are a few things I need to check while I'm here."

"Such as?"

Lukas looked away. He had many things to do. He didn't have to share them all with this stranger. Instead, he shrugged. Arthur clearly wasn't happy with his silence.

"Remember Lukas, Hetalia's flag is white for a reason. We don't want anything to do with your war," he warned.

Lukas didn't reply. He hadn't wanted his brother to get involved in the fighting, yet he had. War didn't care about what you wanted, after all. It did what it wanted.

 _The Isle's already involved, whether they like it or not. When the Army finds an opening, they'll attack. After all, there's a Beilschmidt here as well._

* * *

"So… when do we go back for him?" Gilbert asked.

"Later. I'll call you," Elizaveta waved him off, having seen Roderich heading off inside.

Gilbert rolled his eyes but nodded, choosing to check on Eduard's progress with Lukas's cross.

Once he reached the lookout tower's main room, he noticed that all the lookouts were currently on break. Raivis was shaking in his corner, writing something down, Toris was listening to Feliks's new rant and Eduard was typing on his computer. They all turned to greet him, albeit with varying tones of warmth.

"Eduard, have you finished with the pin yet?"

The Etonian raised his head and nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face. He pulled out the cross-shaped pin from a drawer and handed it to the German.

"It was definitely a communication device. I've managed to fix it, so it should work. I haven't tried turning it on yet, though," he explained.

"How do you turn it on?"

"You're planning to do it now? Shouldn't you wait for Lukas to return?" the blond frowned, shooting him a disapproving look.

"He's busy. So?"

Eduard sighed but snatched the pin back from him and pressed something. He fiddled with his own computer for a few minutes before stepping back.

"All connected. Now, whether it works or not is a different matter."

There was nothing for a good ten minutes. Just as Gilbert was about to give up, there was a beep and a female voice spoke through the speakers.

"Norway?"

* * *

For Sadiq, it was turning out to be a very bad day. When he woke up, Gupta had already left. What's more, he had overslept! Then, once he had finally rushed downstairs, he had run straight into Commander Bachchan. The latter had wasted no time in scolding him for a good five minutes before letting him go. And now he had just managed to join his fellow soldiers at Assembly without breakfast!

He shot a glare at his roommate as he stood beside him at the back.

"Ya could have woken me up," he muttered.

The Egyptian shrugged and turned back to the podium. Commander Nicolescu had just arrived and was discussing something with the traitor. Neither officer seemed happy.

The reason for that appeared soon enough. Their leader's voice echoed through the large speakers in front of the podium.

"Attention!"

They all saluted, Sadiq trying his best to avoid making a rude gesture. After reciting the national anthem, they lowered their hands.

"Today, I inform you that a new member will join your ranks. However, not as a soldier or officer. Instead, he will be helping us out on a case we've been working on lately. He will bunk with Adnan and Muhammad Hassan. That will be all."

As the leader turned the mike off, the soldiers glanced at each other in excitement and curiosity. Who was this new person?

Sadiq was just as curious. The guy would be bunking with them, so he hoped it wasn't going to be another bastard.

"Everyone, meet Mr Vladimir Lupei," the black-haired officer stood up on the podium and gestured towards the doors.

Everyone stared in disbelief. The only thought on Sadiq's mind as a short man with messy honey-blond hair and red eyes dressed in a long red coat with tassels with an odd hat with ribbons hanging down his head walked, no, skipped down the hall to the podium was "who the hell is this weirdo".

"Hello everyone! Nice to meet you all! I'm looking forward to working with you guys!" he beamed at them, showing pearly white fangs.

Commander Nicolescu facepalmed before forcing a smile.

"Yes, please treat each other with civility. Dismissed. Oh! Adnan and Muhammad Hassan, come over here and show Mr Lupei to his room."

The two soldiers walked over to the two men, Bachchan having quickly escaped beforehand. The eccentric man smiled at them and held out a hand.

"Vladimir Lupei, nice to meet you!"

"Sadiq Adnan, and this is Gupta Muhammad Hassan," Sadiq shook the blond's hand.

Gupta simply nodded.

"Show Vla- Mr Lupei to his room, then I want you to give him a tour around the facility. You two are in charge of him," Commander Nicolescu ordered them before turning to the newcomer, "Vladimir, _please_ don't make anything explode."

And with that worrying piece of advice, the three departed on their tour of the facility.


End file.
